


In the Eyes of the Gods

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, For reasons, everything's made up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the North slowly recovers from the lasting effects of the War of the Five Kings, the Starks look to strength bonds to the South with a marriage, but the two involved don't quite see eye to eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Eyes of the Gods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CABRALFAN27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CABRALFAN27/gifts).



> This is the first ASOIAF fanfic I ever wrote (and it was for class). The assignment was on religion in fiction, and to write either an essay analyzing a religion or a fanfic about the topic. Then, this happened.
> 
> For reference: Brandon is Rickon and Shireen's great-grandson, Myrielle is Tyrion's granddaughter, and RIckard is Beth Cassel's great-grandson.

“Brandon Stark, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mother,” Brandon sighed, staring out the window. Snow was falling thick over Winterfell, as it usually did. The castle was a shelter of heat, warmed by the hot springs that ran through the walls and Brandon felt none of the cold that was omnipresent outside.

“And have you any opinion of what we’re asking of you?” his mother asked, hands on hips.

Brandon looked over at his father who was seated at his large desk, and he thought bitterly of how he would be expected to fill that seat. He let out a sigh.  “I’m to be married to a lady in order to strengthen bonds with another house, and give that other house some amount of power and ability to take Winterfell.”

“Brandon!” his mother scolded.

“ _And_ ,” Brandon persisted. “You want them to be Lannisters.”

His mother looked to round on him again, but the scraping of wood on stone stopped them. The Lord of Winterfell stood and approached his eldest son.

“Our ties to the realm are important,” he began. “We are one of the oldest houses, and we must do our duty to keep our people safe. Is the North not important to you?”

“It is,” Brandon interjected.

“But?”

Brandon hesitated. “I’m too young to be married?”

Lord Stark let out a loud, joyful laugh. “You’ll be fifteen on your next name day. That is plenty old enough to be betrothed. Your marriage will occur after you’ve have some time to know your future wife. For all of us to know her. And if she is not an acceptable match for you, then we will work toward a different bond.”

 

\--

 

Myrielle Lannister arrived in Winterfell during a heavy snowstorm. The party that accompanied her was rushed inside without formalities in order to escape the cold. Once properly situated, she fell into a deep curtsy.

“My Lord Stark. Lady Stark,” she greeted them.

“Myrielle Lannister,” Lord Stark replied. “May I introduce to you my eldest son, Brandon Stark.”

Myrielle curtsied once more. Brandon made no word of acknowledgment.

“I’m sure you’re quite cold, Myrielle,” Lady Stark said. “I’ll show you to your chambers and have a hot bath drawn for you.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

After the ladies left the hall, Brandon turned on his father.

“Her hair is yellow.”

“A lot of people have yellow hair.”

“No, they don’t.”

“That’s no reason to break a betrothal.”

“She was cold.”

“People get cold here. It’s the North.”

“Starks don’t get cold.”

“Of course they do.”

“She’s short.”

“And?”

“Do you want to be responsible for the shortness of the future generations of Starks?”

“Brandon, you’re being ridiculous,” Lord Stark said.  “If any actual reason comes up, I’m sure I will be aware of it and proper action will be taken. Perhaps you will even find it in you to like the girl.”

 

\--

 

Out in the godswood, Brandon pretended things were as they had always been – unlike his riding and sword fighting lessons where he always felt like he was being examined. Luckily, Myrielle kept inside the castle and away from the snow, leading Brandon to stay outside as often as possible. Still he avoided being too close to the castle, so as to prevent anyone on spying on him from the windows. Here in the godswood, he was completely safe: away from the castle and his siblings who continuously pestered him about being betrothed to a Lannister of Casterly Rock.

Brandon was in the midst of a staring contest with the weirwood – a futile battle, really – when he heard leaves crunch behind him.

“Who’s there?” he called, turning around to see the pathway. A small-framed person completely covered in cloaks stepped into the clearing. Carefully, they removed the hood to reveal yellow hair. “It’s you.”

“Hello,” Myrielle said in return. “Lady Stark suggested I spend less time in the keep so I could maybe get to see you more, since you’re so often outside.”

“How kind of her,” Brandon responded, not mentioning that he had been making the effort to avoid Myrielle. “I take it you still have no appreciation for the cold?” Brandon eyed the cloaks that she was pulling further around herself.

Myrielle shook her head. “The South has little cold to be had,” she explained. “Even in winter, the snow is light and – what is that?”

Brandon followed her gaze to the weirwood. “That’s our Heart Tree,” Brandon said calmly. “This is where we pray.”

Myrielle made a face. “Can’t you just use a sept like everyone else?”

Brandon looked taken aback. “Not everyone has a sept. We didn’t have one until Eddard Stark built it for Catelyn Tully.”

Myrielle crossed her arms. “Well, everyone should have a sept. That tree is terribly frightening.”

“It is not,” Brandon snapped. “The godswood and the heart tree are special. You cannot lie in front of a heart tree and everything done before one is done in the eyes of the gods!”

A small laugh escaped Myrielle’s lips. “Then I suppose this argument is sacred, and my proclamation of the Seven is sacred, and the cold is sacred, too? I’m sure your gods are perfectly fine with my utterly sacrilegious comments, as they have done nothing to stop me. I will be off to the sept.”

Brandon turned back to the Heart Tree and sat on the snowy ground, letting her footsteps disappear behind him.

 

\--

 

“She hates the Heart Tree, Father,” Brandon ranted later that evening. “She wouldn’t stop talking about how great her Seven is and how terrible our gods must be to let her say such things.”

Lord Stark quietly listened to his son’s complaints about his betrothed. He let out a sigh.  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating, Brandon.”

“I am not,” Brandon murmured.

“If you’re to be the lord of Winterfell, you’ll need to be far kinder to your subjects,” Lord Stark continued. “You must understand hardships that they have, the struggle to live in the harsh North, how they make their living, and give them the respect they deserve. Up until your betrothal, you were completely suitable to take on these responsibilities. I refuse to believe that these qualities have simply vanished.”

Brandon took a sudden interest in the floor.

Lord Stark continued to stare at his son. “Well, have they?”

“No, Father.”

“Then prove it.” Lord Stark stood to move about his chambers. “I expect you to treat her as your subject for now. Listen to her and do what you can to help. Do not ignore her or act out against her, understood?”

Brandon gave a small nod.

 

\--

 

“Good riding, Stark. I bet you can’t keep it up tomorrow.”

“I let you have that one because you’re part Cassel,” Brandon retorted. “It’s not as easy as you think it, Rickard.”

Rickard let out a laugh. “I was named after a Stark, though. It probably counts for something.”

The pair rode into the gates of Winterfell, slowing as they approached the stables.

“Look sharp, Stark,” Rickard called. “I see someone who wants to be your wife.”

Brandon silenced him with a look and dismounted. He briefly considered giving himself quite a bit of space around Myrielle, but decided against it. Exiting the stables, he walked right up next to her.

“My lady,” he greeted.

Myrielle acknowledged him with a nod, but said nothing.

“Are you heading to the sept, my lady?”

She nodded, not meeting his gaze.

“Can I accompany you?” he tried, holding out his arm.

She gingerly placed her fingers near his elbow. Brandon heard a whistle come from behind them. He’d have to make Rickard pay for that during sword fighting lessons later. He chanced a glance at Myrielle, noticing that her cheeks were decidedly flushed. He was willing to wager it wasn’t from the cold.

“Please accept my dearest apologies on his behalf, my lady,” Brandon offered. “I will be sure to make him pay for that jape.”

Myrielle cleared her throat, continuing on a few more steps before responding. “I am sure a punishment is not necessary.”

Brandon stumbled a bit next to her, tripping over his feet and letting out a laugh. He quickly brought himself back up and resumed walking. “I fear you think me too harsh,” he said between giggles. “My intentions were to collect a dragon from him.”

Myrielle gave a small shrug. “Should we not both benefit from his misdeeds?”

In the middle of the road, Brandon stopped walking. Myrielle turned on him and looked him directly in eyes. “Lady Myrielle, I think you may be more Lannister than I thought of you.”

Myrielle turned away with a small scoff. “I am certainly more Lannister than you.”

The pair continued down the road and into the sept, Brandon hesitated in the doorway, but Myrielle proceeded forward, lighting candles before the statues along the walls. Brandon walked about tentatively; he tried to copy Myrielle’s progress through the sept. Locating a candle and a match, he struck a flame and placed it near one of the statues. He knelt down, casting hasty glances about to gauge when it was time to stand again. In his peripheral vision, he caught Myrielle moving, so he hastily stood up and began walking toward her. Before he reached her, she stopped to light another candle. Brandon stopped in his tracks and repeated his previous actions.

After a few more minutes, Myrielle stood and Brandon followed suit. They left the sept in silence and began their walk back to the keep. Few people recognized Brandon as the returned, and he acknowledged them with a nod, unsure of how appropriate it would be to speak after visiting the sept.

“Tell me,” Myrielle said halfway through their walk back. “What work have you to do that would require more strength?”

Brandon licked his lips. “Continuing the responsibilities of my birthright, my lady,” he responded. “It is often a bit tolling and one always needs more strength to be patient and reasonable.”

“I see.” There was a small lull. “And who do you know that has died lately?”

Slightly taken aback, Brandon replied, “No one, my lady.”

Myrielle stopped walking. “What business did you have to conduct with the Stranger?”

“Who?”

Myrielle’s jaw dropped slightly before she clenched her teeth and continued walking at a much quicker pace.

At a slight jog, Brandon caught up quickly. “Wait!” he called, slowing to match her pace.

She stopped once more, facing him directly. “Why should I?” she challenged. “You come into my place of worship, disrespect and dishonor my gods, and expect me to wait for the future lord of Winterfell, simply because of his birthright?” Myrielle whirled around and continued walking off at a rather quick pace.

“Myrielle!”

“Stop following me,” she called, not bothering to stop or look back.

With a small huff, Brandon stopped his jog and kicked at the snow. He went off in a roundabout loop, stopping at the stables to comb his horse.

That evening, Brandon found himself in his father’s solar. Brandon studied the pattern of the stone floor, bracing himself for the lashing he was sure to receive. Instead his father appeared relatively calm.

“Tell me what happened.”

Brandon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Then, he went on to explain the events of the day, from riding and Rickard’s japes to his time at the sept with Myrielle. He ended with how Myrielle asked him not to follow her, and his trip to the stables to follow her wishes. His father remained silent for a while after.

“Did you not take heed to your lessons on the Seven?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” came the whispered reply.

“Do you remember them?”

A short pause. “Mostly.”

Lord Stark sighed. “Make that become ‘completely,’ Brandon. Understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good,” he said. “And you will take care to show her only kindness, with no action that could be taken as disrespect.”

Brandon nodded.

 

\--

 

For the next two months, Brandon fell into his pattern of life as it was before his betrothal to Myrielle. He returned to his old habits and treated Myrielle the same as his sisters, allowing minimal interaction between the two. During his stint being as civil as possible while allowing for minimal contact, a storm was blowing in. Brandon mentally made a list of the activities he could accomplish inside the keep without imposing himself on anyone.

“You are definitely over-thinking it,” Rickard told him one day. “I mean, she suspects you of avoiding her.”

Brandon sighed. “Is she at least alright with it?”

Rickard shrugged. “Probably. Though, she also seems to want some sort of acknowledgement. You treat her like she barely exists, and you are going to marry her eventually.”

They left the yard together, and Brandon went straight for the stables. “Hey!” Rickard called. “No riding today. That storm is coming in quick. I give it no more than an hour before it hits us hard.”

The sky was the same pale gray it always was, as far as Brandon could tell. While there may have been undertones of darker weather approaching, nothing appeared too serious: a minor snowfall, at best. With a shrug, Brandon continued onto the stables. He’d done plenty of riding in snowfall before. Rickard ran forward to intercept him.

“Look,” Rickard said. “I know you want to stay out of the possibility of crashing into a certain someone, but better men than you have died in smaller storms than that. Trust me.”

Brandon moved around Rickard, rolling his eyes are continuing to the stables.

Rickard side stepped quickly to block his movement. “How about,” he began cautiously, “we go inside the keep, and I will make it my sworn duty to protect you from any unwanted visitors until the storm blows over.”

After a brief staring contest in which Rickard could have beaten the weirwood, Brandon finally relented.

“You win,” he muttered. “But I am still willing to wager that that storm is not going to hit Winterfell.”

Rickard grinned. “Does that mean I can steal your desserts for a month?”

“A day.”

“A week?”

“Fine.”

Rickard punched the air with a fist. “Extra sugar for me!”

The blizzard hit Winterfell two hours after they entered the keep. To Rickard’s good character, he didn’t once gloat to Brandon, though he did continuously slip dessert references into their conversations. During their time in the keep, they retrieved snacks from the kitchens, pretended to joust in the halls, had a swordfight with candles, and practiced their dancing where they thought no one would run into them.

“Surely Myrielle would make a better partner?”

“Lord Stark,” Rickard greeted, dropping into the best curtsy he could manage. “Would you give me the honor of sharing this dance?”

“I will have to decline,” Lord Stark replied, “particularly because I am here on official business, regarding a certain betrothed lady.”

Brandon stood beside Rickard, looking at his father. “I believe that dancing with Myrielle before being properly situated in the right environment may be off-putting to our guest,” he said calmly.

“Our guest is your betrothed,” Lord Stark reminded his son. “And speaking of which, have you seen her?”

Brandon and Rickard shared a look of confusion. “No, Father,” Brandon replied. “Rickard and I have been in the keep since before the storm began. I fear that neither of us has seen Myrielle. How long has she been missing? Who is looking for her?”

“All the men I had command of when the storm began and your mother asked after her,” Lord Stark explained. “We have searched the grounds and the entire keep; she is nowhere to be found.”

“Perhaps the sept?” Brandon suggested.

Lord Stark nodded. “My men are on their way,” he confirmed. “It’s difficult travel during the storm, but they should be there and back soon. Help where you can, check the keep again and see if anyone has spotted her.”

“Yes, sir,” the boys replied together.

The watched as the Lord of Winterfell turned from the room.

“I think I will go check the crypts,” Rickard said, nodding to himself and crossing his arms.

“Why the crypts?” Brandon inquired. “I am not even sure if she knows they exist.”

“I just have a hunch,” Rickard said. “Care for another wager? Double or nothing. We just follow our first hunch?”

Brandon rolled his eyes and began to leave the room.

“Is that a yes, Stark?” Rickard called, jogging after him.

“Sure.”

 

\--

 

Ten minutes later, Brandon found himself covered in his thickest cloak braving the storm to venture into the godswood. As he trudged through the snow, he made a mental note to never take up Rickard on a wager ever again. Brandon was nearing the clearing by the weirwood when he felt the storm begin to lighten up. With a small sigh, Brandon licked his lips and pressed onward, hoping that the small pool in front of the weirwood still kept the ground slightly warmer. He was planning on stopping there briefly before collecting himself and returning to the warmth of the keep.

As her got closer to the Heart Tree, he noticed a small mound covered in snow in front of the pond. Brandon swore. He raced to the Heart Tree and gave it a brief look before turning over the mound. Myrielle’s hair flared out across the snow as she let out a small shudder. Brushing as much snow off of her as he could manage, Brandon ran his hands through the nearby snow to collect her cloak and wrap her in it. Finding nothing nearby, Brandon quickly scanned his surroundings, looking for any sign of her cloak. Looking back at her and finding that her lips were slightly blue, Brandon glared at the Heart Tree before removing his own cloak and bundling her up in it.

Brandon gently moved her into a sitting position and braced himself before lifting her into his arms. He carefully made his way back into Winterfell, crashing into his father right at the gates.

“Brandon!” Lord Stark called. “Myrielle?”

Brandon was panting slightly from the walk back. “Where should I put her?” he breathed out.

Lord Stark held out his arms, and Brandon gently handed him Myrielle.

“Where did you find her?” his father asked.

Brandon took a heavy breath. “In the godswood.”

Lord Stark shot Brandon a confused look. “I will make sure that she is safe. Go rest.”

“I will, Father,” Brandon responded, but he followed his father into the keep.

They took Myrielle into her chambers were Lady Stark greeted them and had Myrielle’s bed warmed for her. They left her covered in furs and settled her into a warm sleep. After they could do no more, the Starks left her room. Brandon continued to follow his dad until they reached his solar.

“You need to rest, Brandon.”

After taking a deep breath, Brandon blurted out. “I need to tell you what happened.”

Lord Stark gave him a quizzical look, but proceeded into the room. “You know why she left the keep?”

“No,” Brandon said, following his dad. “But when I found her, she was passed out in the godswood – in front of the Heart Tree – and she may or may not be currently wrapped in my cloak…”

Brandon watched his father sit heavily behind his desk. They met each other’s gaze and stay silence as a minute passed.

“I take it you understand what your actions mean?”

“Yes.”

The Starks shared another look.

“Are you concerned about what happened?” Lord Stark asked.

“No, Father,” Brandon replied. “I think it may prove to be a problem when she wakes. There might be some confusion on her part when she wakes up and is suddenly married.”

Lord Stark nodded. “I will make sure that the issue is taken care of,” he justified. “Would you like me to tell her?”

Brandon hesitated. “No. I feel like I should.”

 

\--

 

For the next week, Brandon waited for an opportunity to talk to Myrielle. Unfortunately, she was spending most of her time asleep, and Brandon was forced to go about his day as if the blizzard had never happened. Heading down for dinner, he let out a small groan as he remembered Rickard’s wager.

“Is something wrong?” Rickard asked, falling into step behind him. “Not looking forward to double helpings of dessert for the next fortnight? Really, you should have taken me up on the month offer. You would be drowning in sugar. Where did you even manage to find her anyway?”

Brandon glared at Rickard. “I don’t want your desserts,” he said firmly.

“Why not?” Rickard joked. “You earned it: a wager has to be paid.”

Brandon held out his hand. “A dragon, then,” he demanded, “for your jape in the courtyard the other day.”

Rickard laughed and pulled coin from his pocket. “Spend it wisely, my friend.”

The two boys entered the Great Hall together, taking their seats as the meal was served. The household ate in relative silence, only speaking occasionally, keeping the conversation light. Just before dessert was to be served, a handmaiden came in carrying a platter of food.

“Is Lady Myrielle not joining you?” she asked politely.

“She is still resting in her chambers,” Lady Stark replied. “If you would be so kind as to carry her meal up, she would appreciate it very much.”

“I’ll take it,” Brandon offered standing up quickly. “It will make everything easier that way. Don’t worry.” Taking the platter from the handmaiden, Brandon left the hall just in time to hear Rickard shout after him regarding desserts.

Outside Myrielle’s chambers, Brandon steeled himself for what he had to do next. He carefully opened her door, half-hoping that she was still asleep.

“Hello, Brandon,” she greeted, sitting up in her bed. Brandon noticed that she was still using his cloak as a blanket. She carefully followed his gaze. “This is yours, correct?”

Brandon nodded and set the food down before closing the door behind him. “I thought you would like a meal and some company,” he offered.

“Of course,” Myrielle said, gesturing for him to take a seat. She began eating slowly, taking notice of how tense Brandon was. “Is everything okay?”

With a swallow, Brandon muttered, “Do you remember what happened that day?”

Myrielle gave him a curious look. “Small bits, mostly the morning,” she admitted. “But I have this feeling like something was watching over me the entire time.”

There was a small pause.

“It was the Heart Tree,” Brandon said. “You were unconscious in front of it when I found you. Your lips were turning blue, and people die from the cold like that, so I wrapped you in my cloak and brought you back.”

“Thank you,” Myrielle said softly.

Brandon shook his head. “Do you remember what I told you about the Heart Tree?” he asked. “How everything that happens before one is sacred?”

Myrielle nodded, not fully understanding.

“The giving of my cloak is symbolic to the old gods,” Brandon explained. “That I am protecting you and will continue to. Forever.”

A small smile appeared on Myrielle’s lips. “So we are officially married as far as your gods are concerned?”

Brandon nodded. To his surprise, Myrielle giggled.

“At least we have no need to be concerned of a ceremony anymore,” she said. Spotting Brandon’s look of surprise, she added, “I am sure my family will understand. There is no reason to worry. Besides, I was going to marry you eventually anyway.”

Brandon gave her a small smile. “So everything is… fine?”

“Of course,” she said. “But we should probably invite my family to Winterfell for a second ceremony, so no one is concerned about our betrothal suddenly changing status.”

“I will have my parents see to it,” Brandon said, standing up to leave the room. Brandon made his way back to the Great Hall, hoping that Rickard already ate his dessert. Only Rickard was left in the room, chewing on a lemon cake.

“So what’s this I hear about you being married?” he asked. “And why wasn’t I invited?”


End file.
